He heard her breathless "Peter!--_You_!" as they started the perilous retreat. Once again she cried his name, and, wheeling round, he rescued her from the clutches of two angry women and on again, fighting his way. Once too he laughed aloud and stepped across a fallen body. "Look out, Jill!" he shouted back and felt her stumble, dragging his coat. So at last they cleared the crowd. As he swung her through the hedge something sharp struck his brow. He felt no pain, but a warm, wet stream that ran down, and he brushed it aside impatiently out of his eyes. More stones whizzed about them. With one arm through Jill's, he started to run, but she gasped: "I can't ... _You_ go!" He laughed, happy. "Now, then..." stooping down, he picked her up in his arms. Her loosened hair fell about him, her bruised hands clasped his neck. He felt then he could have started and fought the battle through again. He sheltered her, as best he could, striding along toward the car. The chauffeur, with a white face, helped her in and sprang to his place. "Now drive like Hell!" said McTaggart. The man needed no second bidding. Off they swept, past the church, up and up towards the sky. McTaggart leaned back with a sigh as the shouts died away behind them. Jill was there--safe--beside him. He thanked God for the fact. Also for a good fight, as he looked down at his bleeding knuckles. "Well--Jill?" he turned to her. "You all right?" But she started up, with a shrill cry: "Peter--your _face_!..." Her grey eyes were wide with fear. She gave a little gasp, relaxed, and fell back in a dead faint. For her brave spirit had failed her at last. The sight of the blood still trickling down from the open cut on his smeared cheek had finished the strain on her overwrought nerves. Nature, outraged, had claimed her due, sending oblivion to the spirit in the interest of the taxed flesh. "Jill--what is it?" McTaggart, frightened, bent over her white face. Mechanically he wiped his own, conscious at last of his injury. The chauffeur turned his head at the cry. "The lady ill? I don't wonder! I expect she's only fainted, sir. A nasty business for any man, let alone a woman, sir." He felt somewhat a hero himself for the part he had played, true to promise. "Another chap would 'ave driven off"--he soliloquized--"but there ... I couldn't! "A deep one?--that 'e is!--never a word about 'is girl. But Lor'--'e can use 'is fists. 'E gave Ap Jones a fair knock-out--Serve 'im right too for mauling a lady--not that I hold with this Suffrage business, still"--he switched on the brake--"a lady's a lady, when all's said." Then out aloud, as the car shot down into sight of the rock-bound valley: "We'll be coming soon to the Falls of Ghyll. Some water may revive 'er, sir." Meanwhile McTaggart propped her up, an arm around the limp shoulders. Never had she seemed so dear ... He felt a lump rise in his throat.